England X Reader An Ugly Reflection
by Dreampainter97
Summary: When your country is attacked, England offered to take care of you. But how much did the attack really hurt you...? (Rated T for your own potty-mouth)


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or England. All rights go to Himaruya Hidekaz.**

An Ugly Reflection

England paused as he heard your voice coming from upstairs. _It's been a while since she's spoken_, he thought. _I wonder if she's doing better?_

He began to walk up the stairs when a thought crossed his mind that made him pause._ Who is she speaking to?_

Since the terrorist attack on your country, something shattered inside of you. You weren't the happy-go-lucky, lovable country of (c/n) anymore. You were miserable – it was like you had given up. Right away, your close friend England offered to take care of you, in the hopes that he could cheer you back up to normal. But for the entire month he's had you, you refused to eat, drink, or speak a word to anyone. The only thing keeping you alive was your immortality as a country; if you were human, you would surely have been long dead. You were a skeleton, lying in bed all day and night with dark circles under your eyes and hollow expressions spoiling your once beautiful smiles. And England hated it.

He missed you terribly.

He began to walk up the stairs slower, attempting to stay quiet enough so you wouldn't notice. He could still hear your mumbling, so he followed the noise to his room that you were using. He poked his head in, only to have his heart shatter at what he saw.

You were sitting up in the bed across from the doorway, your thin, bony legs dangling off the side as you stared at the mirror propped on the wall on the side of the bed. You were talking to your reflection with the usual emptiness in your eyes being replaced with fury, unaware of the Brit's presence in the room.

"Look at yourself," you scowled at the reflection. "Pathetic. You're pathetic."

England watched with grief as you hissed, "You're weak. You're nothing. A few crazy people fight you and this is what happens? Absolutely pathetic. You aren't worth the scumbags that did this in the first place. A pathetic, worthless, good-for-nothing piece. Of. Shit," you spat the last word out with enough venom to make a cobra shrink into itself in fear. "England is going out of his way to help you, and this is how you repay him?" England's muscles tensed where he stood. "Bitch. I bet you even have _feelings_ for him, huh?" His breath caught in his throat. "Weakling. Love is for sappy, weak pussies. He doesn't care about you. He _pities_ you, like a dog. A helpless, stray dog." He gulped, feeling his anger rise. _How _dare_ she make such accusations about me. About _her. _Please…Stop…You're perfect…_ he was silently pleading for you to stop – for you to understand. He _loved_ you. You confessed your returned feelings, but now you're trying to throw them out the window.

"Worthless!" You began to scream at the mirror image, standing up weakly. "You don't deserve him. You don't deserve anyone! You were born a nobody, lived as a nobody, and you'll die as a nobody!" Your temper flared, and for a moment, you looked completely insane. "You. Are. _WEAK_!" You threw your fist with surprising strength, enough to shatter the glass mirror – and your reflection that taunted you so. England jumped into action then, running to you as you collapsed on the bed in tears. He sat down next to you and wrapped his arms as quickly around you as possible. He could feel you tense up for a moment, and he prayed you wouldn't try to reject his comfort.

You choked a loud sob, and you concealed your face into his chest and cried, your entire fragile body curled into a ball that he held with both protective strength and loving tenderness that couldn't have been replicated by anyone else you knew. He said nothing, just buried his face in your hair as your tears began to stain his sweater.

It was a long time before you calmed down enough to let him speak. He nuzzled the top of your head as your cries dimmed down to tiny whines that felt like they were chipping at his heart each time the noise reached his ear. "Shhh," he hushed, tracing his index finger lightly across your spine. "Don't believe it. Not for one minute. You are strong. You are smart. You are loved."

You shook your head in protest, a small motion considering his grip around you. He felt your sadness pool back into your body, and he wanted to get rid of any last bit of it. He wanted you happy again.

"Yes…" he whispered softly. "Yes, you are. I love you. I don't pity you. You're beautiful. You're perfect. You're loved…" He repeated these words over and over again until your crying tired you out enough to stop protesting. The words seemed to finally sink in. You looked up at him with the eyes of a child. Innocent, curious, and hopeful. He smiled at such an expression, happy that it replaced your previous muted gaze and fiery rage. "We all love you. I know I do. Don't believe anything otherwise." He closed his eyes and lightly bumped his nose against yours. "Okay?"

You seemed to be awestruck, speechless at the sudden love that seemed to sparkle in his emerald eyes. You looked down sheepishly and nodded, a light dusting of a blush gracing your cheeks. He was satisfied with the answer, and hugged you again, smothering his face in your neck, tickling you ever so slightly. You giggled, and felt his lips thin into a smile on your skin. He pulled away to kiss your forehead. "There's my girl."

Your blush deepened, and new tears began to flow. He barely had time to process this before you hugged him close, speaking to him for the first time in a month. "…Thank you."

England felt tears prick at his own eyes, and he laid down, bringing you down with him so your noses touched. He laughed lightly as you gave him a cheesy eskimo kiss, returning it to let you know he loved it. You could feel everything you felt a moment ago – anger, fear, sadness, emptiness – all of it melting away in his strong embrace, loving gaze, and warm laugh.

"…Arthur?" The use of his human name caught his attention, but he liked it. The way you said it had a nice ring to it – one he could _definitely_ get used to. "Yes, (y/n)?"

You seemed to like the use of your name, too, because your blush deepened again. "…Sorry about your mirror."

He barked a laugh, making you blink in confusion. "The mirror said some awful things to you," he joked. "It deserved it."

You giggled again, loving the feeling of a smile on your face again. It felt…_good_. Like you were yourself again. England noticed this, and his smile softened as he leaned in and pecked your own smile, making it grow into your old signature grin.

His eyes sparkled with happiness as you said, "…I love you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

…God, this was cheesy and weird.

I literally got this idea in the middle of Chemistry, and wrote it all out in two periods. I just had to get it onto paper, because it would have stuck with me if I didn't do something with it. But LORD, it SUCKS.

Sorry. I didn't mean to rip out your eyeballs in such a harsh manner.

~Dreampainter


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